


Agent/Handler

by Catsnake



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Edgeplay, M/M, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsnake/pseuds/Catsnake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Written as an anonymous fill for an anonymous prompt on LiveJournal.)</p>
<p>The complicated relationship between Samson and Cullen becomes...even more interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent/Handler

**Author's Note:**

> From the game canon:  
> [Samson]: It ended as well as anything else I've ever done. Corypheus would kill me on sight. I'll tell your people what they want. Everything I cared about is destroyed.  
> [Inquisitor]: Very well. Samson, you will spend your remaining years serving the Inquisition. Cullen will be your handler. Perhaps he can get something useful out of you.  
> [Samson]: I doubt the commander believes there's anything worthy left in me.  
> [Cullen]: You're not wrong. But you served something greater than yourself once. Perhaps you can be made to remember that.

It had been three months. 

Three months ago, Samson had thought his life surely ending for certain: not that it came as any great surprise to him; ever since his days on the streets, hollowed by withdrawal, he lived his life like a particularly reckless carriage driver: he wasn’t going to guide his horses to their demise intentionally, but he rode fast, and if the carriage happened to tip over, well, that would okay. And that day, when the Inquisitor’s crew had leaped down to challenge him and his men to prevent Corypheus’s use of the Well of Sorrows, the moment the unstoppable mage of an Inquisitor had drawn his lightning-colored blade, the thought had crossed his mind: this is when my carriage finally crashes. 

He wasn’t particularly wrong there; he’d been beaten into defeat, lying semi-conscious and bleeding on the ground, his men dead around him, and the Inquisitor had stooped down and taken his fell greatsword, Certainty, from his hand. He was hauled off, drugged, and carted in a semi-conscious state to Skyhold, the entire trip like a dim, waking dream. And when he’d arrived, the first face he saw as he came back into himself: Cullen. 

That was then. Now, he served the Inquisition as a valuable agent as they plotted their last strike against Corypheus, as decreed by the Inquisitor during his judgment. Cullen was ever nearby, his vigilant handler. Samson had thought few things surprised him at this point, but Cullen constantly proved him wrong. Cullen had been strict with him but merciful—perhaps, Samson thought, he saw entirely too much of himself in Samson, like staring at the very shadow of what he himself might have grown into—and Samson had dutifully served the Inquisition, seeing little alternative and no point in resistance. What had grown between them was a muted fondness, not quite something that could openly be called trust just yet, but getting there. 

Samson reflected on this as he stood in the corner of Cullen’s office in Skyhold, absently examining the books on Cullen’s shelf. His handler stood behind him, listening to a soldier’s report. Always busy, Samson thought to himself. He realized that he did not miss being in charge in the least, despite his present circumstances. He had more purpose when guided by others. After all, he’d been a beggar when Corypheus had found him and lifted him up. 

The soldier finally marched from the room, and Cullen loosed a sigh. He strode to the door and barred it. 

“No more guests, hm?” Samson said, turned from the shelf. Cullen walked to his desk and leaned with one hand against it, running the other through his blonde hair. 

“I never can seem to catch a moment,” Cullen replied. A chorus of night sounds, the voices of insects, floated in the window for a moment, carried by a breeze. “Maker, but I am tired,” he sighed. He slipped off his gauntlets and vembraces, placing each on his desk with a dull thud. He began to shrug off his breastplate, but it caught, and he struggled with it for a moment. 

“Need some help?” chuckled Samson. 

“No. I—“ he began, but Samson had already moved to his side, and helped him lift the heavy piece off of his body. Cullen stood now in simply his undershirt; it clung tightly to his muscled form. His bare shoulders and arms were sheened lightly with sweat. Samson had shared quarters with Cullen before, in Kirkwall, and even then, he had found he couldn’t help but notice the other templar’s body. At that time, he’d not even considered more than idle thought about the other man. 

But now, he stood less than an inch away from him, his gaze transfixed, and he slowly realized that Cullen had noticed his watching. His eyes lifted and met Cullen’s, and understanding and surprise flashed in rapid succession across Cullen’s face. 

“I…ah,” Cullen shifted, awkwardly. 

Samson stepped back, his dark eyes never leaving Cullen’s body. 

“Think you could give me a hand with my armor, too?” he mumbled, smiling faintly. Samson, of course, wasn’t wearing armor at all, being now a servant rather than a soldier. 

Cullen hesitated, the faintest blush crossing his face before fading. He stepped over to the other man and helped him undress. He pulled the dark-haired man’s shirt over his head as Samson’s own fingers fumbled at Cullen’s belt. 

“Maker, I…I can’t believe we’re…” Cullen began. Samson laughed, quietly, darkly, and removed the last of his own clothing. 

“You’re the boss, here…handler,” muttered Samson, backing into a wooden chair. It took Cullen a moment to understand, and then his eyes widened. Trembling, he bound Samson’s hands, and then lashed his feet to the front legs of the chair. 

After the briefest of hesitation, Cullen leaned over the bound man, brushing his neck with his lips, tasting his skin; Samson shuddered with a barely perceptible sigh. Beyond the window, in the darkness outside, the wind picked up. 

Cullen’s face moved slowly lower, lingering on each place his lips found, enjoying the other man’s taste and smell and feel—and anticipation. He brushed past the man’s lower belly and took Samson’s already hardening cock into his mouth; Samson twitched and gasped aloud. 

He wound his tongue up and down the other’s shaft and lifted, firmly with his tongue on the sensitive lip of the head, and again Samson gasped, some half-formed word escaping his lips. Cullen began to slide his head up and down, a smooth motion, forming a rhythm as he worked his own erection with his hand. 

“Maker,” Samson shuddered. 

Cullen lifted his head away with a smirk, and lubricated his free hand from a phial nearby, abandoning his own cock momentarily with his other to pull the other man’s lower body into position and spread him open. Samson moaned, a light, involuntary sound, as Cullen slowly worked a finger into his body. Slowly, cautiously, Cullen worked up a new rhythm with his finger, reaching more and more deeply, and then he began to curl his finger inward, pressing up against the firm spot within. Samson jerked, a sound half a shout and a half gasp escaping his throat; he was breathing hard now, dark eyes half-lidded in pleasure. 

“Maker,” he gasped again. 

His finger still within the other man, Cullen returned to his own throbbing member with his other hand, focusing on Samson’s gasps and moans and the slick feel of the inside of his cavity as he worked himself. 

“Close,” Samson gasped, bucking his hips. Cullen smiled, and withdrew his finger. He placed his hand on Samson’s knee to steady himself as he brought himself to the edge of rapture and then past the point of no return. He moaned softly as he came and his body bucked of its own accord. Breathing heavily, he kissed Samson’s thigh. 

“What of me?” gasped Samson, sheened with sweat, his cock standing hard. 

“I am the boss, remember?” murmured Cullen.  
He lowered his mouth to Samson’s cock again, as Samson arched backward and gave a grateful moan. 

“Ah, Maker, please,” he moaned, as Cullen pulled away again. Cullen lubricated his other hand with the solution from the phial, and placed his hand in a ring around Samson’s cock, sliding wetly up and down, and Samson bucked and arched with pleasure, gasping and inarticulate. Cullen waited until he knew it had to be the brink for the other man, and again withdrew his hand. Outside, the wind rose to a near-howl. 

“I’m close, I’m so close!” begged Samson, his dark eyes wild and desperate. “Ah, please, Cullen, please.” Smiling, Cullen watched Samson sit for a moment, breathing hard, cock twitching, and took in the sight. When he’d first glimpsed Samson on the battlefield alongside Corypheus’s forces so long ago at Haven, he’d have laughed near-hysterically had anyone told him he’d someday see the man like this. 

“Not this time,” Cullen mumbled, smirking. He rose and leaned over the other man, careful not to brush against Samson’s cock. He brought his face to Samson’s and closed his lips against his, kissing him with long, slow motions of the tongue. Samson moaned lightly against his mouth. Cullen’s hand found Samson’s head, caressing the side of his face, exploring the man’s stubble, the shape of his cheek, and then moving to the back of his head, finding paths in Samson’s sleek, dark hair. 

Samson’s breathing slowed and his body stilled. Cullen detached himself from the other man long enough to unbind the other’s wrists and feet, and Samson sank in the chair. Cullen gently guided Samson off of the chair and into his arms; he held him gently for a long while, listening to the exhausted other’s breathing and heartbeat; Cullen let his arms move across and caress the other’s back. 

“Maker,” sighed Samson one final time, calmly, quietly. 

“Not even close,” said Cullen. “I am merely your handler.”

Eventually, they retired to Cullen’s bed, where, entangled in each other’s embrace, they listened to the wind outside die down to silence, and gradually, each fell asleep to the night sounds of the insects outside.


End file.
